


Filthy Habit

by otherwiseestella



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, Bottom Harry Hart, Brief references to past abuse, Comfort, Coping Mechanisms, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Conversations, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Doing Their Best, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Radio 4, Rimming, Sleep, Smoking, So much new information for Merlin to enjoy, Switch Eggsy, Taking care of Eggsy, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Merlin (Kingsman), Voyeurism, clothed/unclothed, difficult conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-31 14:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17851094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwiseestella/pseuds/otherwiseestella
Summary: Eggsy comes home upset. He doesn't want to talk about it, really. He just wants a fag and some peace.But Harry wants to talk about it, and Merlin wants to talk about it - a bit, at least.And it's nicer, far nicer, to learn new habits than keep up filthy old ones - luckily, Merlin's got some (really pretty brilliant) ideas.~~~‘A’ight, Harry?’ The voice is distant, but it lets him know that whatever funk Eggsy is in, it hasn’t impeded his awareness.‘Lovely evening for a filthy habit.’ And just like that, Harry’s climbed through the balcony door and is standing at the back of Eggsy’s chair. Just close enough that he can feel the warmth of his body through his jacket.‘‘s my last one an’ all’, Eggsy says. ‘Merlin let me have it both barrels last time, and it ain’t like I enjoy it. It’s just…’





	1. Cigarettes and old cups of tea

Eggsy slams the front door. Harry can hear it from the study, but he’s poring over the blueprints of what looks like – and probably is – the largest underground research facility in America, considering all possible infiltration options. 

Vaguely, he wonders about just using gas through the air-flow pipes instead of sending anyone in at all. Reassigning Bors and Percival to the Russian job, since it will require a certain amount of negotiation. He’ll have to ask Merlin.

He can hear Eggsy walking up the stairs. Well. Walking would be a kind description.

‘What have those stairs ever done to you?’ he calls.

There’s a little silence where he’d expect something – a sarcastic reply, a hand on the study door, a sprinkle of invective about rules and shoes and carpets and how he’d agreed to live there, yeah, but that didn’t mean he was going to get slippers because he wasn’t, in fact, a million years old. 

Eggsy, who has taken to impeccable suits like he was born in one, who is all confident stride and elegant cuffs these days, has rejected only one aspect of what Harry considers to be proper gentlemen’s attire – the house shoe.

‘Over his lap, bring it on,’ he’d said, gesturing to Merlin one morning, ‘but my arse is as close as my feet’ll ever get to slippers, thanks all the same.’

Now, though, there’s just the click of the bedroom door, and, a moment later, the quieter sound of the French window sliding open. 

Harry knows he shouldn’t find Eggsy smoking so fascinating. He shouldn’t encourage it, fixate on the sight of plush lips pulled round a fag, or the way he holds Harry’s gaze when he takes a deep drag some days. 

He’s too serious about training, really, to let himself get a habit, but Harry knows he keeps a pack out there, underneath a plant pot, comes back some days after hard missions, smokes one, smokes two, keeps his eyes trained down the street like he’s afraid his old life’s coming up the road to collect him. 

But he’s just come back from his mother’s house, not a mission. He debriefed last week and his three days rest turned into five after Lancelot got enough intel from her mark that the Turkey mission is delayed until they’ve analysed it. He’s due back on duty in three days, but it’ll be a straight in and out job, so it can’t be worry, the way he sometimes goes quiet the night before a tricky mission, sits a little closer, asks for reruns of Ready Steady Cook and Time Team.

‘Hmm’ Harry says, quietly, and folds the blueprints away.

Harry slips into the bedroom. There’s no way Eggsy hasn’t heard him, but he also hasn’t acknowledged his presence. 

He’s hunched in the chair that sits on their little top balcony, staring out at London and smoking. His hair is mussed, and he looks young from the back, suddenly, the way he’s slumping.

‘A’ight, Harry?’ The voice is distant, but it lets him know, at least, that whatever funk Eggsy is in, it hasn’t impeded his awareness.

‘Lovely evening for a filthy habit.’ And just like that, Harry’s climbed through the balcony door and is standing at the back of Eggsy’s chair. Just close enough that he can feel the warmth of his body through his jacket.

‘ ‘s my last one an’ all’, Eggsy says. ‘Merlin let me have it both barrels last time, and it ain’t like I enjoy it. It’s just…’

Harry waits. He knows that these pauses, these silences, are as much a part of speech as the words. 

It always – even now, even in their home, takes Eggsy time. Harry grew up with the world poised for him to speak, ready to nod along, or laugh at his jokes. Eggsy grew up with a backhand for making too much noise. Harry is amazed, touched always, by these moments that begin disclosure of any detail, however small. He knows what they cost Eggsy.

‘Mum bought me my first packet. Stop me bumming fags off her. Proper ones an’ all, not rollies. Silk Cut. Couldn’t stop coughing, she almost pissed herself. She’s stopped now anyway. Just…’

Harry wonders if this would be a good time to share that Eggsy’s father had once insisted – insisted – on stopping off for a final cigarette before they infiltrated a party in Basra. It had been a beautiful evening, the sun flashing out of the sky and leaving a cool black night. The way they’d all leant against the side of the car, trying to identify the birds from their calls. It had been lovely. 

Before he can draw breath on it, Eggsy begins again, so quiet this time that Harry can feel the words, a low rumble, more than hear them.

‘It just never fuckin’ stops, Harry. Did you know Merlin’s a Laird? I mean, course you did, you’re married to him. Just like… I dunno. Not like I’ve got a point, it’s just... all this. It’s my home now, course it is, but … there’s like… well, there’s like, turns out he’s a Laird, and I know I look good in a suit, fucking fit, and I know I’ve earned my spot, I’m a good agent, just…’

He lets his head fall forward with a sigh. 

Harry knows, then, that discretion is the better part of valour. What possible reassurance can he offer, a man who has worn the world as if it were a coat that had been tailored to him? 

Eggsy is so brilliant, never needs telling anything twice. His German is becoming impeccable, his other languages tolerable, his table manners faultless under scrutiny, his conduct so beautiful you’d think he’d been born in Windsor Castle. These things can be learned, and Eggsy is the quickest learner he has ever met. 

What cannot be learned, or at least not so easily, is comfort with the endlessly baffling, endlessly exclusionary reality of the riches and privilege of Britain’s elite. 

Titles and coats of arms – all of which Eggsy can reel off – what they constitute, in reality, is just more people who don’t understand, and don’t give a toss about what life is like for the millions of other people. For Jamal and Ryan. For Eggsy’s mum, for Daisy. For Eggsy. And yes, he’s in the club, now, but there are layers. He’ll never be able to meet fellow Oxbridge alum at a do, share some polite gossip about mutual acquaintances. He’ll always be texting Jamal, making sure his sister’s ok, that she’s still in school, that nobody’s been round her door that shouldn’t be.

He can see it in the slope of Eggsy’s shoulders, the curl of his spine, the tension of his neck. The feeling that isn’t quite anger, but could easily shade into it. He knows the set of that jaw, even from behind.

‘It’s shit, Eggsy. And I can’t promise it won’t always feel like this, a little. Although your sensitivity to structural injustice is part of what makes you such an impressive Kingsman.’

He sees Eggsy’s shoulders twitch at this, continues in a level voice: ‘And if it’s any small consolation, Merlin’s Scottish home is the most appalling draughty tower you can imagine, and is entirely surrounded by hanging clouds of insects during the only days of the year that it isn’t absolutely pissing it down.’

Eggsy turns at that, cracks a grin. ‘Explains why he never takes a holiday, then.’

Harry puts his hand on Eggsy’s shoulder, shivers his thumb up and down slowly over the nape of his neck, into the neat buzz of hair at the back of his head.

‘Brilliant boy.’ He can’t help it, this dizzying fondness, this intense adoration that feels like it seeps out of his pores. Beneath him, Eggsy presses more firmly into the touch, but his voice is still hesitant.

‘Sometimes I can’t shake it, you get me? Feels like this is all gonna… go, someday.’

And he hears it, of course, the ‘you’ that sits in place of the ‘this’, the low catch in Eggsy’s voice. 

‘It's a constant fight to even let you out of our sight on missions, my dear. In fact, I’m not sure you’ve ever actually been out of Merlin’s sight … we are never, I can assure you, going anywhere of our own volition.’

‘Ain’t your sights I’m worried about.’ He says it slowly, like he’s worried the words might come true the moment the leave his tongue and hit the air. 

‘More like, what about when you’re all finished with me. You’d still have each other, reckon you could let me go real easy, but I’m fucked for you, get me.’

Harry knows what Eggsy’s been called, and by who. The other Kingsman recruits weren’t the first – he doubts the Marine corps went any easier on his accent, his clothes. Or the kids at school for that matter, with a dead father and a mother too beaten-down to do things properly. 

He knows it is somewhere, trapped in Eggsy’s DNA like a shadow, that feeling that he won’t ever measure up, that he’s ultimately disposable. 

Merlin refers to it as his chip, fondly, but that’s not quite right. It’s sharper than a chip. Like a thorn, a splinter, a scratch on his retina. It causes constant discomfort, he suspects, that sometimes blooms into pain.

A chilly evening with the sun falling fast and a wind picking up isn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but it’ll do. It’ll have to do because he finds that he can’t help himself. Eggsy’s no sooner stopped speaking than he’s in front of him, crushed between the metal table and the wall, holding the hand Eggsy isn’t taking a draw from as if it’s a lifeline.

‘Eggsy.’ 

His voice is soft, his stomach a curious knot of nerves that he doesn’t care to examine.

‘I don’t know who, or what, has put this into your head, or raised any doubts. But please. Listen to me. I am totally, irretrievably fucked for you, too.’

He’d been planning something romantic. Dinner out somewhere cosy, perhaps the Italian where Eggsy grins like a lunatic at the candles in those waxy glass bottles – something, just the three of them, alone, so he could say it and mean it and then they could all go to bed afterwards.

But the way Eggsy’s face lights is magical. The joy that splits it into a smile, a proper, full-blown grin and then he forgets he was taking a drag, tries to speak and his whole upper body spasms, a full-on coughing fit that Harry tries so hard not laugh at. But it comes out, Eggsy coughing, and Harry laughing until Eggsy’s laughing, too, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall and turning to Harry.

‘Fucking bastard, tell me that an’ then watch me choke to death.’

He’s still coughing but leans in for a kiss, anyway. He tastes appalling, like dark fresh cigarettes and old cups of tea and it’s fucking beautiful the way Eggsy opens up, his lips hot and his mouth hotter. Harry sighs as Eggsy’s tongue twists into his mouth, cocky and brazen and intent on tasting, lets his hands come up and pull at his lapels as if he’s trying to inch them closer, impossibly closer together. Eggsy is kissing him like he wants to get everything unsaid into the kiss, like it can flush away all doubt.


	2. Talking habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin comes home, and Eggsy gets cosy, and Radio 4 definitely, certainly hasn't been hacked...

‘All hell-bent on getting cancer this evening, I see?’ And this time they both jump, because neither of them has heard Merlin, and he’s not exactly spy-quiet. 

Bastard is standing in the French windows, all stern expression and deep green jumper with those patches Eggsy likes because they don’t show teeth marks and he is, as Merlin has said, wryly, more than once, ‘like a fucking dog that nobody thought to train’.

Merlin always makes Eggsy feel – well. It’s not the same as Harry, not the star-bright first-dawn blinding whatever the fuck. It’s quiet. It’s like. Well. It’s like a lot of things but right now it’s like being caught kicking a cat by your hot teacher. 

‘In my defence, yeah…’ he starts, and it sounds confident at least, but he quails under a raised eyebrow from Merlin. 

‘Both of you, in here, now. Eggsy, bring the packet, they’re going in the bin.’ He mutters something about grown adults and stupid choices, and the smart answer – spies and booze and fucking guns, Merlin – is halfway to his mouth so he shuts it, tight. 

 

Harry has blueprints to return to, and Eggsy wants a jog, wants to go clear some of the residual weirdness out his head, but he also can’t bring himself to leave the house, where Harry Hart who actually said he actually loved him, is, because apparently espionage has turned him into a soppy knobhead. So he ends up doing chin-ups on the bar that Merlin had finally, grudgingly, screwed into the kitchen doorframe the month prior.

Merlin’s at the sink, Radio 4 on in the background, some program about diagnosing lung-related illnesses. Like, Eggsy knows that Merlin physically can’t hack into Radio 4 programming, but there’s a bit of him that believes if anyone could, it would be him. Especially if motivated by an opportunity to get his point across.

‘Harry told me he loved me.’ He doesn’t mean it to come out, halfway through a chin up and maybe that’s why his voice wobbles, needs to up the frequency of his training or something. Voice sounds proper rinsed, too, like a kid holding up art they did at school and hoping for approval. 

‘Did he, now?’ Merlin’s voice is all quiet interest. Eggsy feels something cold solidify in his stomach, and wonders, suddenly, how it feels to hear that about your own husband, in your own home. He knows they’re cool with this – has asked, over and over, but still, that must be… 

He’s about to apologise, feels that same crushing fear he felt earlier edging back into his brain, when Merlin half turns as he pulls the plug out of the sink, to say. ‘Well it seems only fair to add my tuppence-worth to the pile. I feel the same, Eggsy, although I’m not prone to articulating it.’

He lets himself off the bar with a drop. ‘Merlin, you sayin’ nice things to me because I’m feeling delicate?’

Merlin turns properly then, puts down the teatowel he’s holding. His voice is very quiet. Eggsy’s only ever heard it that quiet before when he’s broken some inviolable rule, or some piece of incredibly expensive equipment. 

‘I’m saying nice things because they’re true. I don’t run to flattery.’

He moves towards Merlin then, across the kitchen, until he’s crowded him up against the edge of the sink. They don’t do this, him and Merlin, get physical. Theirs is all subtlety and touches in the dark, most usual, and under the kitchen lights he can see Merlin’s faint surprise.

‘Well now, and there was me hoping you just wanted to take things upstairs’, he breathes, but the words don’t match his voice, or the fact he’s bringing a hand up to fist in Merlin’s jumper.

‘Do you want to talk about whatever it is, lad?’

‘I’d rather get fucked.’

‘Did I offer that?’

‘ ‘d rather have your cock between my thighs,’ and this time he juts his chin, raises an eyebrow.

‘And I’d rather you answered my question properly, please.’ And it's a command, no matter how quiet it is. Like velvet wrapped around steel, and the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.

‘Sir’, and Eggsy’s legs spread, just a little, because even now he falls into parade rest automatically whenever Merlin’s stern with him. Sweet, trainable pup.

It makes Merlin want to do unspeakable things, to use him and take him apart. 

Perhaps with his hands, perhaps with his voice. Makes him want to stroke three fingers over and over inside him, milk him dry and leave him gasping on the sofa, all the while making him read through updated training protocol reports, pausing whenever he trips on a word. 

Makes him want to ruin him whilst he’s thousands of miles away in a hotel room, using only his voice and whatever Eggsy has to hand.

Now though, Eggsy’s looking like a lost boy in a supermarket, for reasons he still doesn’t quite understand and isn’t quite sure he wants to. Emotions, great big sweeps of feeling, tend to be Harry’s domain. Harry and Eggsy pulled by similar tides. How the fuck he ended up in a house of drama queens, he still doesn’t know.

 

Eggsy opens his mouth, like he’s chewing something nasty, tries to speak. Brings a hand up, over his brow, scrubs at his eyes as if he’s knackered.

‘Ain’t easy, this.’ 

Merlin nods, remains silent. On the radio, the pips sound for the news.

Eggsy pulls out his phone, types.

‘Texting Harry?’ 

Eggsy nods. Rolls up on the balls of his feet like a gymnast before a competition. ‘Only wanna say it once.’

They hear footsteps on the stairs. Suddenly, Eggsy looks green. 

They stand, Eggsy in the middle, Harry and Merlin on either side, leaning against the kitchen counter. The man on the news says something about a bill passing through parliament that will limit inner-city traffic, and Eggsy takes a deep breath and begins.

She’s doing better, his mum, now, new postcode, volunteering down the road at a charity shop three mornings, get her out the house. She won’t take counselling, won’t even speak to the lady from Women’s Aid who Harry had so thoroughly vetted but even without it her hands don’t shake so much, and she hums round the house when she’s dusting. 

But she still – not ever when it’s just her and Daisy, she’s responsible, she wouldn’t – but he’d gone over one evening when Daisy was at her Aunties, and she’d been absolutely twatted.

He’d said something about it – not that he’s one to talk, he knows that he sometimes drinks too much – and he looks at Merlin then, eyes full, so fucking contrite, as if they don’t all live in a house built of coping mechanisms. 

Either way, she’d laid into him. Called him a deserter, said he’d left her on her own, that he didn’t care, said that she weren’t gonna take him back when his two old creeps had fucked the fun out of him.

He’d left, after that. Poured her a pint of water, handed her the tissues and two paracetamol, texted Auntie Sam to ask her to keep Daisy overnight. 

Then he’d walked home hurting in the evening cold, wringing the steps out over concrete to try and tire his body enough to stop his brain playing it back to him.

There’s a grey area between what Eggsy’s mum knows and suspects, what is shadow and what is absolute darkness, and it must, Merlin thinks, be difficult for her, despite its necessity. She knows enough to be worried that one day he’ll walk out the door and disappear like his dad. He knows that Eggsy feels it, too, the constant guilt. He sees her every day he’s at home, usually, or texts her if he can’t. Sends her flowers, makes sure the security cameras are working. 

Merlin feels furious with her, just for a second.

‘She won’t even remember in the mornin’, fucks sake, she’ll probably text me askin’ if I want dinner round hers tomorrow.’

He’s a good boy, Merlin thinks, unbidden. He finds himself opening his mouth before Eggsy’s quite closed his, still sheet-white and scrubbing his hands across his face.

‘You’re a good boy’, he says, voice terribly soft. ‘You do your best by her, Eggsy.’

Eggsy turns his face down, stares at his shoes like the ground might crumble if he looks at them.

From his other side, Harry’s voice is thoughtful. 

‘It’s going to be hard, of course. Recovery from trauma always is. But you have been – are – doing your best for her. Since you were five years old.’

Harry reaches his hand along the counter, behind Eggsy, to touch Merlin’s hand and Eggsy leans into their combined touch. They stand like that for a few seconds, until all three of them are breathing steadily, quietly, in the little house at the end of Stanhope Mews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Thank you as ever for reading, please do scream below the line if you would like, I'm recovering from a hideous flu-thing, and any chat is just delicious.
> 
> xx


	3. Pretty and Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eggsy works out that what you need isn't always what you think you want, and everyone moves upstairs. Featuring Merlin's extraordinary intuition, Harry's clever fingers, and Eggsy's ability to take to new habits like a duck to water.

Merlin can feel from the way Harry’s hand brushes his that he’s slowly stroking Eggsy’s back, up and down, slowly but surely worming a path up under Eggsy’s t-shirt.

He knows that Eggsy’s sweating, from only the change in speed of Harry’s fingers. He likes to linger over the sweat at the small of Eggsy’s back, and at the back of his neck. Man seems to run on bloody pheromones. He smiles, fondly.

‘Thanks for the chat, for listening and … everything. Reckon I’d like to take this upstairs, gents, yeah?’ And Eggsy’s voice is grateful warmth, a thin thread of arousal.

All these months later, it still barely takes anything more than Harry’s hands up and down his back to undo him. Which is sweet, really. One day, Merlin thinks, he’s going to make Eggsy come just from that, make him shake and sweat with it for hours.

Not tonight, though.

Merlin steps away from the counter, can see Eggsy’s dick half-hard and heavy already in his grey marled joggers.

If this is how he wants to deal with the situation then honestly, Merlin’s a little relieved. They’ve all done quite enough talking for several lifetimes.

But Eggsy’s mouth keeps on running, like it’s suddenly come loose, and he’s leaning into Harry, murmuring filth.

‘Love you, Harry, please, gonna let me mark you up real nice, dirty your back up?’

There’s a waver in his voice though, a softness in his eyes that makes Merlin grimace.

Not a chance is Eggsy up to that tonight. Not hurting Harry – not even fucking him. He can feel the need pouring off him, the need to be cossetted, petted and praised until he’s stripped down and vulnerable. The need to be looked after, even though he can’t say it, wouldn’t ask for it, might not even realise what it is he wants. He’s so used to being Merlin’s second in the bedroom, as they take Harry apart into beautiful little pieces.

Eggsy cocks an eyebrow when he catches Merlin’s eye. ‘Like what you hear, guv?’

‘Aye, right,’ he says, ‘tonight you’ll take what you’re given and be grateful.’ He looks Eggsy full in the face, and watches as Eggsy cottons on, watches his breath hitch, watches him bite down gently on the plumpness of his lower lip.

He thinks, just for a second, that Eggsy might protest, put up a fight, put them in a position where no sex is happening, because no way is he letting him take charge tonight.

But his face is soft, and he shuffles his feet a bit, curls in closer to Harry.

‘Yeah, actually. Thanks, Merlin.’ And he’s so pink in the face just saying it, just getting those words out, that Merlin could kiss him as he watches all the fight drain out his shoulders. Good, responsive boy.

‘Up those stairs, boy. I want you stripped by the time we get there.’

Eggsy starts off at a run that is, honestly, enormously gratifying in both its speed and the way that Eggsy still looks beautiful, somehow, throwing himself up the the stairs with his t-shirt half-over his head.

Harry turns to Merlin in the narrow hallway, takes both of his hands. ‘I love you’, he says, voice low and heated.

‘Oh for god’s sake, Harry Hart’, he says, though he knows from the way Harry’s eyes sparkle that his tone is all fondness. ‘I love you too. Is there something in the water tonight? Now lets give your pet a good seeing too.’

‘He’s no more my pet than yours, and you know it.’ But there’s a bounce in Harry’s step when he reaches the top of the stairs.

Eggsy’s waiting, standing in easy rest by the bed, stark-bollock naked, sprung already, cock proud and curving against his stomach. He’s got his eyes down, hands behind his back, and he looks…well, submissive might be a reach, but it’s certainly not the chin-jut, shoulders-back posture he usually has when he’s going to fuck Harry, rough him up, whatever.

Good, Merlin thinks. He listened. This is going to be fun. Something about seeing Eggsy like that goes straight to Merlin’s groin, reminds him of the first few times he saw Harry like that, back in his old flat, kneeling at the edge of the sofa. Two beautiful boys, and isn’t he lucky.

When the two of them reach the doorway, Eggsy sinks down to his knees without even seeming to think about it, and Merlin hears himself inhale harshly. He’s left the bedside lamp on and his skin is as gold as his hair in the low light. His hands are settled behind his back.

‘Red, green, yellow ok?’ Merlin asks, unbuttoning Harry’s shirt. He doesn’t look at Eggsy directly, but takes the ‘yes, Merlin’ that falls from his mouth. He likes it that way, a heavy honorific. So prettily trusting.

Merlin casts an appraising eye over Eggsy, the droop of his neck, the way his cock pulses at the quiet sound of buttons coming undone.

‘Harry’, as he slips his shirt off his shoulders, leans to graze his teeth down Harry’s neck, ‘go and warm him up, please.’

Harry crowds Eggsy in an instant, not lifting his chin or moving him. He kneels down beside him, runs a hand up into Eggsy’s hair, the other creeping down his lower back.

‘Darling’, he murmurs, ‘look at you in the light, so good for Merlin.’

Eggsy feels a flush begin to work itself up his neck. ‘Harry, oh god, please, Harry, touch me.’

It takes Eggsy time, usually, to fall into the honey-sweet litany of whispered endearments, where every outbreath is a flurry of sentiment. Time, and usually two, three fingers in Harry’s arse, or his cock in Harry’s mouth, or a switch in his hand over Harry’s back. They’re sweet with each other, reverent and heady, as if every time is the first time. It makes Merlin’s teeth ache like candyfloss.

But Eggsy’s sounding different tonight, quieter and less glossy-smug in his adulation and Merlin can tell, the little hitch in his voice, the way his eyes fall closed, that it’s reflexive, just the dimming of any remaining urge he has to be in charge.

He’s looking forward, he realises, to taking Eggsy apart.

‘Shut your mouth, Eggsy’, he says. ‘Harry knows.’

‘Quiet now, darling’, Harry whispers into his neck, and Eggsy fucking _keens_ with the sensation, ‘we’ll take care of you.’

Eggsy’s got that gormless look of adoration in his eyes, and when he flicks his gaze to Merlin, runs it over his still-clothed body and lets it rest at his crotch, Merlin immaculately suppresses a shiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You've all been SO kind and lovely about this fic. I hope this next bit brings pleasure too. I am...such a tease. Next time is Full Smut. <3
> 
> xx


	4. Surrendering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the smut begins in earnest, and Eggsy gets taken slowly apart.

Eggsy can feel the weight of Merlin’s gaze on him like an anchor, can feel Harry crowding his back with heat, hands everywhere, big across the span of his back, reaching round to draw lines with nails, gentle across his stomach.

He wants to reach his head back, kiss Harry filthy, ‘til his lips hurt, ‘til he’s bitten bruises into his pulse points and has Harry mewling. But his body’s got other ideas, falls forward until his head’s resting on the mattress, knees splayed and hands useless on his thighs. 

He feels guilty, letting Harry take charge when he knows it ain’t what he likes. But then Merlin’s speaking voice reaching him as if he’s underwater – already - he can’t find it in himself to sit up.

‘That’s right, Harry. He’s halfway down already and you haven’t even touched his cock. Your clever, clever hands.’

Harry’s hands, strong and hot, keep petting at his hip bones even as his breath catches with the compliment. Harry’s enjoying it. He feels his dick twitch with the knowledge.

‘Go on, you can touch it’, Merlin says to Harry, and Harry reaches round.

Eggsy wants to lift his head, see Merlin sitting at the end of the bed, still fully clothed, eyes appraising. But his head’s too heavy and the mattress is soft, hides his face where he can tell he’s flushed. He pants hot air into it, lets the dry sheets wick the spit from his lips.

Harry’s hand is on his dick, one finger delicately stroking a line from base to tip and then over the slick head of his cock. 

Eggsy’s always so wet, starts leaking soon as he’s looked at. Used to hate it, the way he was slick in his briefs like a girl before he’d even got any, but he knows Harry likes it. 

He watches the fat tip glistening obscenely, Harry’s fingers rubbing over as it pulses more clear liquid, and he feels his spine heat. 

‘M’so wet’, he mumbles, sure the mattress will swallow the sound. ‘Fuck, so wet because of you.’

Harry’s hand pulls through the tacky patch on his stomach where Eggsy’s cock has been leaving sticky trails, swipes it up to pull the faint slickness over his nipples. It’s filthy. It feels so nice, so dirty and good, so he pushes back, clumsy, to rub Harry’s cock against him and that’s when his slowed-down brain registers that Harry fucking Hart still has his trousers on. Stupidly, he moves a hand behind him, frets at Harry’s torso for the waistband.

‘Sit up, Eggsy,’ Merlin’s voice might as well be God’s, the distance it is above him, his keenness to obey it. ‘I want to see how wet you are.’

So casual, like he’s asking him for a cup of tea and a Kitkat.

Eggsy pulls himself to kneeling, almost overbalances, ends up draped over Harry like some fucking calendar spread, Harry’s cock a long hot line through his trousers. He can feel Harry’s heart against his sticky, sweating back and the pulse washes out over him, soothing.

The air in the room is colder across his front, his leaking cock, and he feels so exposed, Merlin running his eyes over him like he’s at the meat counter. He’s so turned on he’s dizzy with it, somehow hotter for the shame that pricks through him.

Merlin lets out a long, low whistle, catches Eggsy’s eye and raises an eyebrow.

Stupid, it’s nothing he hasn’t shown Merlin a hundred times before, but he can feel his idiot eyes getting fucking wet under the scrutiny, tears forming even as his cock bobs, pulses more clear liquid like a puppy that wants to please.

Merlin hums in the back of his throat. ‘Oh, you are wet, aren’t you? Leaking like a tap. Very nice.’

He screws his eyes shut against the praise, feels it like a bruise, and the tears in his eyes spill over. 

‘Good boy, Eggsy. All spread out and sticky like this. Harry’s got you.’

Harry has. He’s back to stroking his hands across Eggsy, rubbing open-mouthed kisses against his neck, rolling his hips gently, bringing his dick against Eggsy’s arse. The fine tweed feels rough, and when Harry’s cock nudges into his arsecrack, the pull of it against his puckered skin makes his cock pulse again, a vicious feedback loop of sensation. It must show on his face, he can feel himself flushing, twisting in Harry’s grip, and that pulls another noise from Merlin. 

His ears are full of his pulse, and he’s so laid out and open that he feels like he might die, pleasure in his spine and shame across his face.

‘Harry, would you get him ready for me? I’d like to put my cock in him, fill him up, make him cry, see how much mess he makes when I’m fucking him.’

Merlin knows what words do to Eggsy – must do, the way he wields them. Before Harry and Merlin it had been quick fumbles, upright, back scraping against brick walls, toilet doors. Girls in the back seats of cars, boys round the back of the garages, quick and nasty. Not like he’s complainin’, but the way Merlin can just…talk about it, label it all, makes him feel loved and filthy, flushed and wanting.

Harry makes a noise. It isn’t dissent, but the way he moves against Eggsy makes it clear how aroused he is. Eggsy tries to twist in his arms – find his lips, kiss that plaintive noise away. His hands reach clumsily back again, fingers on buttons. He wants to peel Harry out of those trousers. 

‘So good, love, wanna touch you, yeah, make it better.’

‘You’ll get yours, Harry, don’t worry. Now do as you’re told.’ Merlin’s voice is all balance, counterpoint.

‘Yes, Merlin’, Harry breathes, and Eggsy wishes again that he could see his face, the soothing wash of calm he always gets when Merlin gives him an order.

‘Both of you, on the bed please.’

Eggsy likes it this way, the way he sits between them, the way he’s allowed to fuck up and run his mouth and he knows Merlin will sort it, will give him the right cues, will help him learn Harry, learn them both.

He crawls more than anything, pulls himself onto the bed, heavy in his limbs. Brings his legs up under him, arse up. Feels Harry’s hands on him, petting across his lower back. Feels a desperate, sudden urge to kiss him.

‘Wanna kiss Harry’, he says, dimly aware he’s slurring. ‘Please, Merlin.’

As he’s saying it, Harry breathes out, happily, over the whorl of Eggsy’s arse, then drops his head down and licks, a broad firm strip across Eggsy’s hole that has him seeing fucking stars.

Merlin laughs softly. Eggsy still can’t see him, but it sounds like he’s gently adjusting himself in his clothes.

‘Go on then.’

Eggsy wriggles onto his back, down across the bed to where Harry is up on all fours. Jesus, he already looks fucked out, his pupils dilated, his hair a mess, his lips a little wet.

Harry kisses like he’s trying to kill, uses his teeth, all blistering heat, so that all Eggsy can do is feel a gut-punch of lust, breath through it. As soon as he opens his mouth, lets his tongue lick into Harry he feels him shiver, full-body. Eggsy could kiss Harry for the rest of his life, chase his own sweat-musk taste on Harry’s tongue, swallow the mewling sound he makes, slowly take him over.

‘Very nice. Now get the boy ready, Harry. I want him nice and sloppy and open for me.’

The first time Harry had ever licked him out, Eggsy’d come within two minutes flat, all sudden and startled. It’s still the dirtiest thing he’s ever done. It still feels obscene. 

Fuck, it’s addictive. The noises, the way Harry makes his tongue a point and puts it in, just a little, catching on his rim. Gets him all spit-sticky, his fingers firm, spreading him so, so open. The little noises he makes, unh, wet and happy and lost in it.

Knows, from doing it to Harry, how good it feels to lick that hot, tense place, feel it relax. Decadent, like you’ve found a secret.

Harry can, he knows, do it for hours, eat him out whilst his jaw aches, tongue goes numb, never letting up the firm strokes, interspersed with little investigative licks that make Eggsy’s core shake with the effort of breathing.

‘Harry, Harry, please, ain’t gonna last….’ And he’s aware he’s murmuring nonsense, but the way Harry’s opening up him up feels like a gift and the way Merlin is watching, heavy as a duvet, palpable as praise makes him dizzy. He wants to be good, he realises.

He wants to be good for them, and they’re letting him. More, they’re helping him. The realisation goes straight to his dick.

‘Merlin, please, m’gonna come.’ He manages to force it out between breaths, between the tension of his cock against the linen sheets and Harry’s tongue at him.

‘From just a bit of licking? You are keen this evening, pet.’

Eggsy lets out a noise because it ain’t fair to call him that when he’s so far gone he can’t even turn his head to shoot Merlin an eyebrow, when the name just rolls over him instead, feels good and true. Then Harry starts to suck, gentle and wet at the edge of his hole, and it’s such a weird hot good feeling he thinks he’s gonna start crying again.

He can hear Merlin’s grin. ‘Harry, do you want to pull him off, or make him wait?’

Harry breathes warm over his wet, slick furl, ‘Wait, please… rather he came in my mouth.’

And fuck, if his cock doesn’t twitch, if he doesn’t think he might just blow his load hearing Harry’s voice, raw and fucked-out sounding already, and not even a hand on him. Dips his head, tries to focus on the feeling of the sheets, the warm bedroom air across his shoulders, anything except the fire Harry’s building in the pit of his stomach.

‘That’s it, pet. Hold on. You can’t come yet, ok?’ Merlin soothes as Harry continues licking.

The focusing works, a bit. He lets the sensation wash over him, become dispersed, until he’s fuzzy round the edges. He knows his cock is leaking onto the sheets, knows his breath is coming in great heaves of not-enough-sensation-but-too-much-sensation, but most of all, he knows he’s doing what Merlin wants, that Harry is happy, that he can relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay! Only one more chapter to go! I do hope you enjoy 'out of his mind with attention and pleasure' Eggsy as much as I love writing him. xx


	5. Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...And here we are! Where everybody gets what they came for, and Eggsy has learned new habits.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, lovelies - it's been such a pleasure writing these three for this.

He’s no idea how long it is before Merlin stands, the weight on the bed shifting. Stands beside Harry, runs his fingers through his hair, which by now is probably all sweat and half-curls, pulls his head up.

‘Good boy. Will you get him ready for me now? Fingers.’

‘Yes, Merlin’, Harry manages, panting. Merlin must have his hands on him, somewhere, down his neck or across his nipples, where he likes sensation hard and sharp, the drag of nails, a pinch.

Then Merlin’s up by Eggsy’s head, sliding his hand under his chin, tilting his face up to look at him. 

‘Harry’s going to use his fingers now, ok?’

And in that is the other, silent question. Sometimes Eggsy wants it – mostly, now – but sometimes not. After some missions, or if he’s been back to the estate for a pint, sometimes he don’t want nothing in there. And Merlin always checks in, lets him back out if he wants and never makes a deal of it.

‘Fuck, Merlin, please, want you in me.’ He knows what he sounds like, but Harry’s got him fucking gagging for it.

Merlin makes an appraising sound in his throat, holds Eggsy just tight enough that he can feel his pulse against Merlin’s strong fingers, beating like mad.

‘Reckon you can take two straight off tonight, can’t you? Hole all wet and open already.’

And Eggsy feels heat rise like a wave through him, ‘til he’s blushing like a fucking beacon, mouth falling open like he hopes he’ll get something in it. 

‘Jesus shitting Christ, fuck’ is all he manages.

Merlin’s so good at finding his buttons that he wonders, sometimes, if Kingsman’s actually developed mind-reading tech, and just not bothered to let the agents in on it.

‘You need something in here?’ Merlin asks, and rubs the pad of his thumb over Eggsy’s half-open mouth, slipping the digit in far enough to touch the top of his front teeth, let him press the tip of his tongue to it in assent.

Merlin slides the bedside cabinet drawer open, takes out the lube – the nice stuff, that Harry gets from the internet, that manages to both stay silky and make obscene sucking sounds – and a little mounted gag, no bigger than two of his fingers together. The gag is, in fact, such a perfect dupe for Merlin’s fingers that he wonders if he had it made, specially.

Probably did, the pervert.

‘Open up for me.’

And they must be coordinated, somehow, because as Merlin slips the gag between his lips, Harry rubs two fingers firmly over Eggsy’s hole, and slips them in.

There’s no burn, he’s too well prepped for that, just the sweet fullness that slowly pushes in from both ends. He breathes out, shaky, through his nose, presses himself back, back against Harry’s fingers because they feel so big and blunt and firm and perfect inside him.

 

Perfect, and Harry’s crooking them up good, knows what Eggsy likes and where he likes it, where sends sparks, shivers right up him. Harry keeps his face close, too, slicks his tongue out where his fingers disappear into Eggsy, whines when Merlin – well, Eggsy can’t see, but he reckons, with the sliver of his brain not high on sensation, that Merlin’s got a hand round Harry’s cock, is teasing round the head of it, to make him whine like that.

Harry’s deft fingers leave and Eggsy mewls round the gag until three press into him, cool again from a slick of lube, squelching so dirty he blushes over it.

And Harry’s deep inside, twists that way that makes Eggsy bow his back, throw his chin up, makes his full body fucking shudder and he’s singing with it, the sensation of being absolutely full, of being absolutely out of it, and yet still inside his body.

It’s still mental to him, this. The way it works, all three of them. How loved he is. And he’d like to make some grand brilliant gesture about it, let them know how grateful he is, but right now all he can do is shove back desperately on Harry’s fingers, feel the sweat run down his forehead, and say something round the gag that sounds as much as it can do like ‘fuck me, Merlin, fuck me please.’

At the back of him, he hears Harry, voice full of lust – ‘Merlin look, he’s so…’

‘Good job, Harry. You’ve done such a good job. D’you want a go in his mouth?’

Even Merlin’s breath comes a little uneven, now. He strokes through the sweat at the bottom of Eggsy’s back, down his shivering legs, makes him feel like he’s a horse gone three times round the track.

Harry draws his fingers out, nudges up the bed, sits beside Eggsy, slips the gag gently out of his mouth, slips a thumb in to replace it before he can miss it too much. He opens his eyes, and there’s Harry. Right there. Sweet, pupils blown, mouth soft in concentration. Eggsy wants to say something, or reach out, kiss him. 

‘It’s ok, Eggsy’, Merlin says, behind him. ‘He knows. You’re being so good, so good.’

Eggsy tries to speak, licks round the shape of Harry’s thumb.

Wants Merlin in him like yesterday, all empty and aching for it. Wants to feel full. He can’t reach forward, so he lets his head fall, nudges Harry’s hip, licks a clumsy stripe across his hipbone, cock just out of reach. 

Harry’s red, leaking, and Eggsy is too far gone to do anything except lick into the air until Harry slips his hips forward. 

‘Oh, my darling boy’, Harry breathes, and Eggsy can’t control the depth, can’t control anything, just lap and lap at the head of Harry’s cock whilst behind him, Merlin pets at his sides, grips his hips with one hand – and god, those hands, so fuckin’ big and strong, make him feel little even though he ain’t – and slowly, teasingly, Merlin works himself inside him.

‘That’s it, Eggsy. Take it for me. Nice and easy, good boy.’

It burns. Course it does, it’s Merlin. Don’t matter how open Harry’s worked him, the man’s got size. And Merlin never hurts him, not really, but he doesn’t fuss about, neither. He just, well. He just pushes in, steel-hard, and he must be absolutely on edge by now, after all that.

He hisses out a breath. God, he’s big, the stretch opening him so wide, filling him so full. Hands on his hips hard enough to bruise, soft enough that they make him shiver a bit. Merlin bends forward, kisses, feather-light, at the bottom of Eggsy’s neck.

‘Good, Eggsy, good’, and then that’s it, he feels Merlin’s body against his and he’s in, all the way seated. 

And fucking Harry, who is a swear-down sex ninja, seems to sense it, to buck just a little further into Eggsy’s mouth. He’s never felt fuller.

‘I’m going to fuck you now, pet’, is all the warning he gets, and then Merlin moves. Pulls almost all the way out, then just as Eggsy’s whining around Harry’s dick he slides back, steady, deep and it feels like nothing else, white-hot pleasure proper spilling over him in waves.

Heat spikes inside him, crawling up his spine, and the sheets are probably a lost cause, amount he’s been leaking. Feels his cock twitch, and he’s been so good, held out so long, but he’s all spangly and strung out and he’s not going to hold out much longer.

He can feel pleasure start to overwhelm him, forgets to breath through his nose and chokes, and he knows he’s blowing Harry more spit and heat than skill. From the noises Harry’s making, from the way his hips are stuttering forward, Eggsy hopes he’s too far gone to care.

‘Merlin, I need to – may I, please?’ Harry’s chanting nonsense at Merlin, and yeah, pulses precome messily over Eggsy’s lips, so he must be on a fucking knife-edge. 

Eggsy licks clumsy round the head of Harry’s cock.

‘You’ve been so good, Harry. Go on. Over his mouth for me, please.’

For someone who ain’t that fond of getting physical, Merlin likes a mess on Eggsy. On Harry, too. Likes when they’re all sweat-come-lube-sticky and fucked out, just don’t like it on himself. 

Eggsy loves it. Can’t bear it sometimes, the grubby joy of it, that he gets to bask it in, get all mucky, that it ain’t secret and hurried and no-traces these days.

Ain’t wet wipes in pub loos any more, and wearing Harry’s jizz on his face, well that’s a fucking pleasure of the highest order.

And Harry’s pulls out of his mouth, rests just the head of his cock against Eggsy’s spit-red lower lip, fists himself loose and quick, his other hand cupping Eggsy’s face, all tender and sweet.

‘Eggsy, darling, I’m….’ and as Harry loses himself in a quiet litany of endearment, Merlin shifts inside him, changes angles very slightly, and – 

Eggsy knows he’s whining, but Merlin’s making him proper dizzy with pleasure and it must make his lips vibrate or something, ‘cos it pushes Harry over the edge, and he’s coming and coming, proper thick and white and hot over Eggsy’s mouth, up across his cheekbones and then it’s running down his chin and onto the bed.

The noises ripped out of Harry are obscene, pretty winded whining, and then Harry bends down, leans in, and slowly, sloppily, runs his tongue across Eggsy’s lips, licking his own jizz off him. 

‘Bloody hell, Harry’ – and even Merlin’s noticed, murmurs as he fucks into Eggsy, good and hard and steady, absolutely takes him apart, until he’s just that spacey pleasure-feeling.

‘Eggsy, I’d like you to come now.’ And he makes it sound so easy. 

Eggsy’s too strung out, not sure he can, he’s so close but he’s all floaty, pretty in the space where nothing feels urgent except that Merlin keeps going.

‘Can’t’, Eggsy murmurs. Merlin’s hand is warm, firm over his hip.

And then ‘want to, please.’

‘You’ll manage. For me.’ And Merlin keeps his pace up, doesn’t reach round to touch Eggsy. Just says ‘ You can let your hips down, if you need.’

His tone is so certain, and he helps guide Eggsy down, still inside him, until he’s lying full on the bed. As soon as his body touches the bed, he realises why Merlin’s done it. 

Eggsy is lying over the wettest part of the sheet, where he’s been steadily dripping precum for what feels like hours. It’s cool, sticky and so gross, and fucking perfect. Gives him something to rut against when Merlin fucks into him again.

‘Good boy, Eggsy, look at you, fucking yourself into your own mess. Never seen you so good and deep before. Lovely boy. You’re going to come now, aren’t you, Harry’s mess on your face, you own mess round your cock, going to come into the sheets for me, pet?’

And that’s what he wants. To be messy and undone and loved and obedient. 

Merlin’s words curl round him like hands, and he fucks himself against the sheets, into his own mess, and the slickness feels so good. 

White heat coalesces, builds up his spine, throbs in his dick, and he can feel his hands fist, feel himself tighten around Merlin and then he’s coming.

And fuck, but does he come. His orgasm rips through him like something’s worked loose, and it carries so much with it – great looping pleasure that takes him under, takes his brain out and makes his body tight as a bow string, but there’s more, too. 

That big loved feeling, and something sad behind it, like it’s healing him up, but also taking him apart. And his brain just keeps latching onto Merlin, still fucking him through it, and Harry, who has a hand on his cheek, stroking, murmuring praise.

And he sobs and sobs and sobs, half pleasure, half something else.

And then Merlin brings his whole body over Eggsy’s, crowds him into the bed, and grinds into him, slow and hard and it’s almost too much, he’s too fucked out and oversensitive, but then Merlin whispers ‘good boy, that’s it, take it, take it,’ and his hips buck, and still, and he comes. 

He’s mostly quiet, except for his harsh breathing, a guttural sound in his throat as he’s coming inside Eggsy in spurts he can feel, his hole fluttering around Merlin’s pulses.

Feeling Merlin’s pleasure makes him grin, makes him tighten up just so he can hear the catch in Merlin’s voice, chase the last few spurts out of him. ‘S’lovely.

Somehow, though, Eggsy’s still crying, face in the sheets, still sputtering gently, hiccupping, and Harry’s still stroking his face, over his neck, shushing him like he’s a child.

Merlin pulls out, a dribble of his come sliding down Eggsy’s thigh.

‘You're filthy, love’, Harry breathes, sounding spent and sleepy.

‘Well done, Eggsy. You were so good, so good.’ Merlin’s voice is so fond, so sweet, that Eggsy hiccups again. It’s a tone Merlin barely ever uses, and he loves it, knowing he was good enough to make Merlin speak to him like that.

He still can’t say anything, himself, floating and fucked out and filthy, but he wipes across his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffs.

God, but he feels better. All that jumpy weirdness is gone, he’s so soft and relaxed and full. Proper spent, like he’s come out a firefight, taken down six men and blown the building to shit.

He lets Harry snuggle alongside him, arms wrapped round him tight. Snuffles into his neck. Feels Merlin’s hands pet over his back, warm and firm. 

Hears him, out of the corner of his brain, say ‘Christ, Eggsy. You’re absolutely filthy. How do you feel?’

Manages to raise his head, peel himself off the sheets to turn to Merlin.

‘Good? Better. Fuckin’ covered in jizz. ‘S’nice. I feel…yeah. Yours. Thanks, Merlin.’

Something stirs then, at the back of his brain, makes him scrunch his face up. Harry senses it, brings the duvet over him, holds him against his strong, warm body, soothes him down.

‘Thanks, Harry. Love you. Hope I were… was I ok?’

Do you still love me sits underneath that. Even though I like to be taken apart, am I still enough for you?

‘Hush, hush,’ Harry says softly. ‘You were lovely. Time to sleep. Are you joining us, Merlin?’

Eggsy feels Merlin’s weight on the side of the bed, reaches out to touch him, finds the warmth of his arm. Makes a little noise when Merlin squeezes his hand. 

‘As long as I’m not in the wet spot, I’ll join you for a bit.’

‘Think it’s all wet spot at this point,’ Eggsy murmurs into Merlin’s side.

He’s drifting off, now, pretty sure he’ll be asleep in seconds. Can’t remember the last time he felt like this, so cossetted, so taken care of. He can feel Harry’s heartbeat through his back, take Merlin’s pulse from where his lips touch his arm.

There’s dried jizz across his face, across his belly, his arsehole’s leaking gently every time he so much as thinks of moving, and he wouldn’t change it for anything, loves it, all marked up, all definitely theirs.

‘We wore him out beautifully, didn’t we?’ 

‘Yes. And you were lovely, Harry. So good for me, too.’

And even half-asleep, Eggsy can feel Harry preening.

‘Do you think we should… about Michelle?’ Harry’s yawning into the skin between Eggsy’s shoulderblades.

‘In the morning. We’ll talk then.’

‘Do you think he’ll be embarrassed? First time he was under like that, all the way.’

Merlin makes a considering noise. Eggsy’s too close to sleep to raise his head up, reassure them. It was weird, maybe, at first, like he still can’t quite believe he’s allowed to want that – and he don’t always want it. Not like Harry. But it was so nice. 

So perfect, to be allowed to take off all those layers of hardness, of coping, of spy and big brother and don’t-fuck-with-me-yeah and all of it, just lay it down with his clothes and let them take him to bits.

He tries to say it, knows he’s nowhere close, just mumbled mmmph sounds and messy, silly kisses on Merlin’s side, until he rolls him away and Harry tightens his grip around him. When he pouts, he can feel stripes of Harry’s load dry on his face, feel that deep ache in his arse, how he’s sill open and leaking. He can taste Harry in his mouth. 

It’s lovely. Filthy and lovely and calming, somehow, to be so clearly claimed.

He falls asleep, soundly, with the lamp still on. Harry and Merlin lie talking, gentle and low, Merlin’s hand twining fingers gently with Harry’s until it’s late, and Harry starts to doze.

***

Epilogue

Merlin wakes in dawn’s grey light, sleep pulled from him by some nightmare. He looks at them both as he gets up, the muddy half-light just enough to make out their features, gentled and unlined in repose.

Such a lovely pair, all wound around each other like balled socks, breathing each others’ breath. Even in sleep they’re so close, Eggsy’s head resting half on Harry’s chest, one leg across Harry’s crotch, the covers thrown off.

He’ll sit on the chair for a few hours, get some emails done, and watch them sleep. Listen to their deep drawn breaths. Sometimes sleep escapes Eggsy, too, but he’s too worn out tonight. It’s lovely to watch.

It was so lovely to watch him submit, too.

Merlin wonders what he’d look like under a paddle, a switch, if he’d want to try. Not yet, perhaps. Not now, when all the family stress is so clean and fresh in his mind.

But maybe soon.

In the morning, they’re going to talk about taking time off. A few days over summer, get it in the diary. Triple underlined. Even if he’ll have to take work with him, which he will. They’re going to fly to Inverness, drive to Glen Wyvis, stop at the house for two weeks and do nothing except walk and eat and – well. He’s got some tech he’d like to test, some toys. Quite a few things he’d like to do to them both, even more he’d like to see them do to each other.

He wonders, idly, if Michelle and Daisy mightn’t quite like the Gamekeepers Cottage on the estate for a few weeks – the castle isn’t baby-proofed, not now Daisy is toddling and into everything, but they’d be cosy there.

He wonders where the thought comes from, given how little he ever wants to do with them, but the soft darkness and the slow rise of breaths from the bed has him uncharacteristically sentimental. He’ll review it in the cold light of day.

Harry turns, mumbles in his sleep, and he half-rises to go to him, but Eggsy shifts unconsciously, pulls Harry closer, buries his nose in the nape of his neck and snuffs at the short hair there, like JB settling on a couch cushion. He rolls his eyes.

Turns his mind to tech – they’ve put in patents for three separate gadgets, and that’s great – usually, once they’re three or four models up, he lets the old patents go public, let M16 pay for the privilege of using them, alongside anyone else who fancies having a bash. Keeps the R&D budget nice and healthy, which is especially welcome at the moment, since certain agents keep absolutely buggering prototypes. They should never have let Geraint take that heli-car out, he can barely ride a bike without stabilisers…

The thought keeps him warm until the alarm sounds at six thirty, and his bedfellows slowly rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading - any comments on your way out always welcome - and ANY suggestions for future fics with these three delightedly received!
> 
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> I am so taken by the three of them!  
> Please do leave comments, suggestions, delighted noises - the fic is written, and just needs edited, so should update fairly quickly. As ever, thank you to everyone who makes this fandom so impossibly lovely.


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